A Butterfly Flaps Its Wings
by Delicious darkness
Summary: A butterfly flaps it wings and somewhere far across the oceans, a storm begins to brew… How strange is life that even the smallest of actions might change the entire world. Harry Potter never becomes the boy who lived, and yet he is destined to clash with Voldemort one way or another.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

«Please, Sybill. It's just for a week».

«But, I-»

«I _know._ I know, and I understand what kind of sacrifice you will be making, but this might be our only chance. _Their_ only chance. We don´t have much time. The curse has already progressed quite far.»

The woman´s face leaks of her inner turmoil. Pleading blue eyes are waiting with a look of apprehension in the reflection of the two-way-mirror. There are lines tracing the corners of her mouth, and permanent cracks marring the space between her arched eyebrows. Her teeth are no longer as shiny as Sybill remembered them to be. Nor does her eyes carry their usual twinkle. Her brown curls are streaked with grey.

 _It's been years_ , Sybill realizes of a sudden.

The sun glows softly. Light gleams through the ever moving gaps between the thousands of leaves that cling loyally to the tall birch-tree standing in the centre of her small garden. A small show of flickering lights has been created just for her. The sky is slowly turning red at the edges, and clouds are gathering in the horizon. Dusk approaches readily.

Bleeding skies, hopeful blue eyes, and her aching heart which has now been split in two.

She needs to think, but is momentarily distracted by a distant sound. «Yip, Yip» is the repeated chorus of the unknown source.

She lays down the two-way-mirror and the decision she must make, and approaches the area where the sound is coming from. Distantly, she can hear her sister calling for her through the mirror.

It lies helplessly squeaking on its back by the foot of tree. It's a baby swallow.

How terrible.

It must have fallen down from it's nest. It won't last long here, the little thing.

What an end; to lie on unforgiving, cold and wet ground, with only stars as company as soon as the sun dives behind the horizon. Night is only a breath of a moment away. So is death.

She grabs her wand and gently levitates the sad thing back where it belongs. Safe again. How easily life is fixed with magic, and how ruthlessly it can suddenly become destroyed.

She watches the nest and its little occupant for a few moments before returning to the mirror, and the bench and her grey reality. She draws her feet up, and lets her chin rest on her knee.

 _Life is such a fickle thing_ , Sybill thinks. _One moment you´re relaxing in your nest, safe from all dangers, and then, suddenly a burst of wind, or perhaps the breath of Destiny shakes your entire world, and you fall, fall to the ground. Helplessly._

Sybill laughs silently at her own gloomy musings. And it´s only Tuesday!

A heavy sigh escapes her chapped lips. She picks up the mirror, and knows there is no more point in delaying the inevitable.

«I'll be there,» says Sybill and tries to ignore how her heart suddenly feels like it is made out of lead. The words are surprisingly difficult to utter.

«Thank, you! Oh, thank you so much!».

The rest of the conversation is a mist of thank you's and a thorough explanation of the how's and what's and when's. Her chest feels as if it has punctured. Sybill listens with half an ear.

Her mind has drifted away.

Because she _knows,_ knows it in her very bones and in the hush of the leaves as they fall from the trees, that she will get the post as a teacher if she goes to that interview. Her dream, her _life_ , barely an inch away from being realized. A week from now, and she'll be appointed. Now, it shall forever remain a fantasy, a question of what might have been.

Even more so, she knows that the coming days are glazed in importance, and an egoistical part of her wants to make sure that she stays where she is, in Scotland, so that she can witness it when it happens.

The flowers in her garden promise a happening of great magnitude, with their bowed and defeated heads nodding off in agreement with each other. Even the rain patters on about it in the late of evening. It must be quite a sight to behold, this coming event. She does not know what will happen, but is convinced that it will be great.

But no. Fate, she muses, has decided to seize control over her life, despite her being one of fate's own beacons, a mouthpiece of otherworldly knowledge. A treasured tool, she had always thought. Perhaps not. Perhaps only a tool.

Despite her great reluctance, and the ramifications her choice will have for her own life, Sybill finds herself in France a few days later. Because she is not completely heartless, and her support is well over-due.

In the mean time nature sings of great change and her bones cry of a future yet to be born.

She is to take care of the children of her only sister, who have become terribly ill after a visit to the pyramids in Egypt a couple of weeks ago. The old Egyptians were diligent with their curses. Even the places that have been declared safe, are sometimes still burdened by a remaining curse or two, ready to leech the life out of the unlucky souls that stumble upon it. In this case; her niece and nephew.

The funny thing was that Sybill even helped to pay for their trip, with the last of her savings no less. Not out of the goodness of her heart, but rather because she had just received news that she had gotten an interview with none other than Albus Dumbledore, and had been quite assured of a stable income in the future…

So much for that…

She also did it to relieve her sister of some of the stress of being a single mother…

Or rather…

To release _herself_ of the guilt of never being there for the children and her sister before.

Fat lot of good _that_ did.

She knows that Agatha has to return back to Egypt. She is to meet a man who supposedly is in possession of the cure for the strange, magical disease that has started to suck the life out of young Rebecca and Edgar.

Yet, she wishes she could be _there,_ back in Scotland, in the middle of the storm. Where she belongs…

But then there is that rotten feeling in her stomach that refuses to go away as long as she keeps thinking of going back.

She carefully follows Agatha's instructions on how to deal with Edgar and Rebeccas needs, which she barely managed to write down on a scrap of paper before making her way to Egypt in a hurry. Time flows by in a hurry between cooking food, changing bandages and thinking of new creative ways to make them swallow their medicine.

On that fateful night, when in another world a prophecy is born, wrecking havoc on every day that comes after the day it is first spoken, it his heard neither by the elderly man named Albus Dumbledore, nor by the young Severus Snape.

Fate's big wheel turns, and the world is forever changed.

None of the coming students of Hogwarts will ever know the name «Sybill Trelawny». All because of a lively breeze that suddenly turned and blew a brochure that told of the wonders of Egypt, and the many family adventures that were to be found there, into the hands of Agatha Trelawny as she walked down Diagon Alley on a delightfully warm day in early August.

A butterfly flaps it wings and somewhere far across the oceans, a storm begins to brew…

How strange is life.

Miles and miles away from the tavern called the Hog´s head, a young woman with long brown hair, and a pair of thick glasses, enlarging her eyes to give her a bug-like appearance, seizes up while her huge eyes become glassy and unfocused.

In a small cottage in northern France, the most important prophecy of the era becomes meaningless as the powerful message is lost on the uncomprehending ears of its three sole witnesses: a sleeping two-year-old girl with sunken cheeks and huge blisters marring her grey-like skin, a fever sick four-year-old boy with the same coloring as his younger sister and their deaf, old cat, who was creatively named, Dog.

Sybill's voice rattled hoarsely through the room, and none was the wiser.

Dog's only response to the life-changing news was a deep:«Meow!».

And thus Harry Potter´s life changes forever.

 **It's been quite a while since I last wrote a story on this site, but inspiration grabbed me. If you have any ideas or inputs, please tell me. I decided to make my own take on Sybill. Hope you liked it.**

 **English is not my mother tongue, so please comment if you see any misspellings.**


	2. Paper Gods & Ants who yearn for freedom

**23\. september 1990**

«First of all, I must say that Harry is a very polite young boy.» Mrs. Hill smiles warmly at Harry as she speaks, causing a pair of dimples to appear on her light brown skin.

«There is not much to say about his behavior, as he always does his homework, and participates by answering questions when called upon by me or the other teachers. In fact, I would go so far as to say that young Harry here is somewhat of a model student.» At this she gave Harry a wink which made Harry blush with pride despite himself. However, he hoped she would stop praising him. He knew that his uncle didn't really like it when Harry surpassed his cousin in… well… anything, and he was quite sure that Dudley's meeting with _his_ teacher would not be as pleasant as this one.

«But,» continued Mrs. Hill, concern apparent in her expression as she scratched her chin in thought. She paused to look at the Dursleys for a second, before renewing her attention at the young boy who did his very best at attempting to become invisible in the chair that was many times to big for his small frame.

«Harry. The other teachers and I have noticed that you are still spending a lot of your time during recess alone, and that you don't seem to be talking much to your classmates during class. Therefore, I was wondering if you can think of anything that perhaps your family-», she motioned to the Dursleys «… or I can do to help you find some friends to be with during school?».

Harry wished that the earth could swallow him whole, and refused to meet the eyes of the adults. He was sure the Dursleys were boiling with discontent for being forced to pretend like they cared about his well being. Like the four of them were a normal family, and Harry wasn't a bothersome stain that ruined the picture of their happy family.

«I like being alone,» responded Harry to the floor. His eyes caught sight of a teeny tiny, black ant that was slowly making its way across the linoleum floor. He wondered where it was headed. Perhaps it was on its way towards a new and exciting adventure. Harry smiled a little at the thought.

«Are you quite sure about that? I'm certain that we can find some great solutions between the four of us,» she pressed encouragingly.

Mrs. Hills voice was a soothing tune of comfort, sweet like honey. He dared a peek in her direction and was met with her kind, brown eyes that spoke of her well meaning intentions. There was nothing condescending about her expression, and Harry was somewhat baffled that she continued to insist that he make some friends. He'd been here for three years now, and every year the Dursleys were brought in to have the same conversation about Harry not socializing with his peers. Although the Dursleys were visibly fed up with the conversation, Mrs. Hill still kept on looking at him with that same golden smile. No sign of exasperation or annoyance, just openheartedness. It was nice. It reminded him of green eyes, red hair, and the most divine feeling of being safe and loved and—.

He quickly shot down that line of thought, or he'd be drowned by those terrible feelings that he couldn't explain, but still managed to make him feel like he would drown. His eyes would start stinging and that terrible lump would make a home in his throat.

He was tempted, so very tempted to say yes to Mrs. Hills offer, because he wanted friends to play with. He didn't want to just sit off to the corner drawing by himself while all the other children were jumping rope, playing football or sometimes even climbing trees together. Harry had always wanted to climb trees. He imagined that if he ever were to climb to the very top of the tallest tree in the school yard, he'd be sure to see the ocean from up there. Because it was _that_ tall. But there was no fun discovering it alone. And Harry only had himself to spend time with.

He desperately wanted to have someone to talk with only so that they could say «Hi, Harry!» and «See you tomorrow, Harry!» when he came and left from school.

But the problem was that the reason for Harry being confined to a fate of loneliness was because of the forth resident of his own household, Dudley Dursley, and his terrible reign over the school together with his bullying buffoons that he called his friends. As soon as Harry's presence in the Dursley household changed from being only temporary to permanent, Dudley changed from ignoring him to being openly hostile. He declared to everybody that anybody who tried to befriend Harry would be subjected to the same treatment as him. Generally being teased and mocked, and ignored. It wasn't too bad. Harry managed fine. Yet, surprisingly none of the other children wanted to share Harry's fate. Even if they would get to be friends with Harry as a reward. If only there had been another wizard or witch at his school, a muggleborn perhaps, like his—. Like _her_. Then Harry was sure they'd have loads of fun together, but as far as he had seen there was no one who showed the promise for that.

The only way he would be able to make friends was if Dudley was put in his place. Catching Mrs. Hills expectant eyes, he knew there was no way he was going to tell on his cousin. Neither the teachers nor the Dursleys knew how Dudley acted at school, and he was not about to tell them. While the Dursley had never been downright terrible to him, he was sure that throwing their son under the bus like that would hardly endear himself to them. He shuddered at the thought. He wasn't going to stay with them forever anyways.

«I'm sure.»

And there truly was nothing Mrs. Hill could do when he didn't accept her attempts at help, and the Dursleys were certainly not insisting that he accept his teacher's efforts to make his school life better, and thus the meeting continued in a haze of praises of his good behavior until it all was blessedly finished with the conclusion of him being told to keep up his good behavior, and Mrs. Hill telling him that her office was open if he ever felt the need to talk with somebody. A couple minutes later he sat in the car together with his aunt and uncle on their way home.

Neither Vernon or Petunia commented on what had been discussed at the meeting, as if they had forgotten they had been there in the first place, or perhaps had not even listened. Perhaps they hadn't.

Their usual ignoring of Harry's existence continued as per usual. That was the way it was in the Dursley household.

«There will be supper in about an hour,» was the first spoken sentence as the three of them entered the house. Harry nodded, before running up the stairs and into his room to the chorus of Vernon's mutterings of energetic and wild young boys.

Once inside his safe haven, Harry found the paper and coloring pencils he had stolen from school a week previous and sat down to draw a picture. At first he wanted to draw his old house in Godric's Hollow, but today was not a good day for that. He missed them so much. So much that he'd rather forget all about the life he used to have before. At least for now.

He decided to draw something else. At first he wasn't quite sure, but then an idea slowly came to him. He drew a circle, and a few lines, and another circle, and some more lines, and at last a final circle.

It was an ant.

Harry stared at the ant that had been immortalized on the stolen piece of paper and smiled. It looked at him as if in question. As if it wondered exactly why it had come to be frozen in a world of dry whiteness. So Harry decided to draw some flowers, some grass, and a big happy sun to keep the ant company.

Harry liked drawing. It was a bit like magic really. He could make anything happen, the colorful pencil in his hand was his magic wand that had the power to realize the impossible. Harry found that rather soothing. It made him feel less helpless and afraid. Because he was the all-powerful God of his little paper universe. There he could even make his parents appear to save him from the Dursleys.

Harry sighed heavily when he heard his aunt Petunia calling for him to come clean up after supper. Apparently, he had missed it. But that didn't excuse him from his duties. Another day of chores and «Yes, Aunt Petunia.» and «Thank You, Aunt Petunia» and «Of course, Aunt Petunia», and there were still endless days left of the same routine until he would get his letter from Hogwarts and get whisked away from his dreary life with the Dursleys.

Thinking of his life made him angry, and in his wrath he drew a huge boot about to crush the tiny ant. Harry felt sad about the fact that it had been fated to die in such a brutal way, but such were the life of ants, he thought. They were so terribly small, and the humans so terribly huge and inconsiderate, that it was a given that they were crushed by their uncaring, heavy feet. The humans were too big and too preoccupied with themselves to consider where they stepped so that they could save the precious lives of the small creatures that lived by their feet. Harry could emphasize well with the ant's fate existence, as he was quite convinced that in the Dursley household he was nothing more than an ant himself.

He turned the paper around, revealing a new blank canvas. There he drew the ant with wings like he had seen on statues and in the glass paintings in church whenever he was brought there by his Aunt and Uncle on Sundays together with Dudley. He let the ant rest on a fluffy cloud with a big yellow halo around its head. He colored the sky blue, and drew a smile on the ants face. It looked peaceful.

At least it was free now.

 **31\. july 1991**

Harry didn't really know much about how and why he had come to stay with the Dursleys. He was aware that there had been a war. But how big it had been, and who had participated in it he had no idea. Frankly, he wasn't really sure what a war _was._ That his parents had been involved in the war, he knew with certainty. He could still remember how he throughout his entire early childhood would at certain times of the month be sent away to spend time with his grandparents for shorter periods, sometimes entire weekends, because his parents had to go to «meetings».

What these meetings entailed he didn't know, but he remembered that sometimes when it got really late and his godfather came to visit and sometimes two other men, whom he no longer remembered the names of, he would be kindly asked to go to bed because the grownups were going to have «grownup-talk». After being cautiously followed to bed and neatly tucked in, it happened that he slipped out to go listen at the door, mostly because he felt lonely. He rarely understood what they were talking about, but words like: Dumbledore, The Order and Voldemort were often mentioned, so often in fact that Harry remembered them to this day. Although their significance was lost on him.

He did not remember much from the day when everything changed. He had been only seven at the time, and even if he had caught onto anything of importance that would have been worth remembering, he hadn't been able to understand, and couldn't really recall it any longer. Well other than one thing: a great, white bird of smoke.

It had been a usual day in Godric's Hollow. They stayed inside as always, because of some charm that kept their house secret from their enemies. Harry hardly understood the technicalities of it, but had accepted the rule as it was. Neither did he know who these enemies were, but such was his life at the time. It mostly consisted of accepting the little scraps of information he received without too many questions. Questions were allowed of course, but were usually answered by: «We'll tell you when you're older, darling». Not that it really bothered him. His fascination for knowing what his parents were doing stemmed first and foremost from the fact that it was all bathed in secrets. And secrets were _fun!_ At the time.

He'd just started to dig into a delicious chocolate cookie that his mother had made to celebrate another bout of accidental magic and also to cheer him up a little. He had made it rain inside the living room, since he had been so distraught about not being able to go outside and play when the weather was wonderful, and the high grass around the house that stretched towards the village was practically inviting Harry to tumble around in it. As he was nibbling on his cookie a luminous light entered the room until it formed into the smoke-like form of a magnificent bird like none other Harry had ever seen before. It was truly beautiful as it glimmered in whites, like a beacon of hope and happiness. Harry felt the last traces of his sadness from that morning disappear as he watched the fantastical creature.

And then it opened its beak.

«Hogwarts has fallen. The final battle is about to begin. The end is near, my friends.»

Harry could still remember the despair in that old voice. And even though he did not understand the meaning of the message, his young body was filled with dread.

The haunted voice of an old sorcerer marked the end of his life as he knew it.

The next minutes were a blur. They ended up apparating from their house, but not to Potter Manor, as was the custom, but to the muggle world. Harry's grandparents had died a couple weeks before, and thus his only remaining family remained in Surrey.

There had been tears. Lots of them. Harry's tears. He hadn't wanted his parents to leave him alone. He'd never been alone without either his parents or his grandparents before. And so he had stomped his feet, and whined and begged. He remembered how his mother had calmed him down by crouching down and just holding him until his breathing evened out, and all he could concentrate on was the smell of her rose perfume and the tickling of her red hair against his cheek. His dad had ruffled his hair and hugged him, and in the end he had accepted his fate.

How he wish he hadn't.

They smiled at him, his mother blew him a kiss and promised they'd be back by the next day to get him.

«We love you darling.»

And with a CRACK, they were gone.

And the next day came. And the next day went.

Months came. Months went.

 _Years_ went by.

Harry never saw them again.

The worst part was perhaps that he had no idea of what happened. Not a single letter. Not a word. Nothing to explain why they never returned other than that dark, black and terrible thought that often bothered Harry in his dreams, but he refused to think about in his wake. That they were dea—.

It was his birthday today. He was eleven years old at last. Aunt Petunia surprised him by making a cake. There were no presents, but Harry was glad. He couldn't remember Petunia going out of her way to do something for him before. The last four years with the Dursleys had in fact mostly consisted of the three of them continuing their lives like before and Harry being the outsider who watched on as the family lived together in relative harmony, with the only disturbances being Dudley's occasional tantrums. Harry spent a lot of the time doing chores like doing the dishes, and sometimes preparing breakfast, but his aunt mostly did it together with him, so it was bearable. It was only unfair since neither his uncle nor his cousin participated.

Vernon kept on going about that it was important that he worked in the house to earn his keep since they had been kind enough to take him in. And he guessed they had been… somewhat… kind… by giving him his own room, buying him clothes and feeding him. Even though their care was purely material and he was in no way cared for emotionally, as they barely even talked to him. He supposed that they could have just left him to an orphanage, and Harry had heard stories about those which made him shudder.

And now his aunt had made him a cake for his birthday. In truth it made Harry both sad and happy. Considering that they all knew that he would be receiving his letter from Hogwarts today, it was perhaps not that strange that his aunt's spirits were lifted. They would very soon be rid off him after all.

The Dursleys ate Harry's birthday cake without ceremony. In fact nobody mentioned the specific reason for why they were eating cake on this particular day, but that was quite alright with Harry. His brain almost collapsed at the image of his Uncle Vernon and his cousin singing «Happy Birthday» to him. He giggled a little, earning himself an annoyed huff from said uncle.

Suddenly, an owl made its way into the home of the Dursleys through one of the ajar windows in the living room. His uncle immediately became purple in the face.

«Get. That. Bird. Out. Of. This. House.» Vernon was nearly frothing at the mouth, so Harry made quick work of dislodging the letter from the birds foot. Harry's heart beat like the wings of a humming bird.

Finally.

He ripped open the letter.

 **HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

 **Dear Mr. Potter**

 **We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**

 **Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.**

 **Yours sincerely,**

 **Severus Snape**

 **Deputy Headmaster**

After scanning through the contents of the letter, Harry quickly penned his response and sent it along with the same bird.

He was going to Hogwarts.

It was exciting, but also terrifying. Although Harry had grown up in a magical home, he had never been introduced to the magical world when he was a child. The only wizards he had met in his life were his parents, his godfather and their two friends whose names had been lost with time.

He had absolutely no idea what kind of world he was about to enter, and even more terrifying: for the first time in his short life, he would be truly alone. It scared him. It excited him. He was a mess really.

Harry went to bed feeling completely jittery.

 **1\. august, Hogwarts**

He often wondered about his life, and how it was he had come to be forced into teaching at the blasted school for nearly ten dreadful years. Every year surprised him with a new batch of completely incompetent dunderheads, making his life miserable and driving him insane.

He looked at the chicken scratch that was the many responses to this year's Hogwarts acceptance letters and sneered. Apparently many parents thought it to be a nice guest to let the little balls of snot write their responses on their own. Children made him sick.

He worked quickly through the letters that he had received today. Noting Draco Malfoy's skillfully penmanship with a nod of approval. At least Lucius had done _something_ right with that whiny brat of his, and if there was a tiny bit of warmth in his chest as he thought about the young Malfoy, he attributed it to the heating spells in the room being defect. He skimmed through the letters only to completely freeze as a particular name caught his eye.

 _I hereby accept my place at Hogwarts,_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Harry Potter_

Harry Potter…

 _Harry Potter._

Potter!

But he was dead? Was he not?

Red hair and green eyes flashed in front of his eyes cruelly, and the ache in his chest that was constantly there grew unbearable for a couple of seconds. He closed his eyes. It was absolutely impossible that the boy was alive.

Could it be somebody else? A strange coincidence perhaps? Merely the boys namesake. Completely unrelated?

Of course not. He was never that lucky.

But if it truly was the boy? He had to go find him. Had to see if it really was him. Potter's spawn. Lily's son.

He fetched his cloak.

 **1\. august, Surrey**

Harry awoke to his aunt knocking on his door.

How unusual. He opened the door a smidgen.

She did not look pleased.

«Harry, there is _someone_ here to see you.» The way she said the word «someone» was so disdainful it might as well have been exchanged with the word «vermin» or «cockroach» or even «magic». Harry's brows rose, and he quickly dressed and made his way downstairs.

There he found the scariest looking man he had ever seen.

He was tall. Dressed completely in black, with a long dark fringe of silky black hair framing his pale and gaunt face that was ornamented with a hooked nose. He resembled what Harry imagined any evil vampire must look like.

His black eyes screamed murder as he looked upon him.

«Hello, Mr. Potter».

Harry gulped.

 **AN: Knock, knock. Guess who? ;)**


End file.
